A Periwinkle Ribbon
by J. Raven Weasley
Summary: Lupin remembers his childhood, the dramatic event that would change him forever, and his early Hogwarts days with the Marauders...mild profanity


"A Periwinkle Ribbon"  
  
Evening came quickly and relentlessly in winter, with horribly-distorted  
  
shadows that looked even more misshapen against the chain link fence around our  
  
yard. When I saw the silhouette against the fence, I thought it belonged to a  
  
much smaller animal, and I stumbled awkwardly around the corner of our flat to  
  
see what it was.  
  
The animal did not see me at first. He was sniffing around the rubbish  
  
bins across the street, and I watched him for some time. He appeared to be a  
  
very large dog of some sort. This was good news; as a child I had had a great  
  
fondness for dogs. Before I was born my parents had gotten a beagle puppy as  
  
a wedding present, but she was hit by a car before my first birthday, and my  
  
mother had decided then that it wasn't fair to keep a dog in the city. I  
  
decided that if I could only get this large dog to come to me, I would show him  
  
to my parents, who would agree to keep him. I stepped out from behind the corner  
  
of our flat and whistled softly. Unfortunately, no sound came out; I was  
  
only around three and had yet to learn to whistle properly, but the dog sniffed  
  
the air briefly, then whirled around and faced me. His jowls were flecked with  
  
dried blood, and he looked far larger than I had assumed him to be. His ears  
  
were pricked and his coat was thick and grey. He gave a low, barely audible  
  
growl, and began to walk towards me.  
  
Panic seized me. This was no beagle, this was another species entirely,  
  
and I had no desire to make the animal my pet anymore. I began to run,  
  
panting and sweating, but I did not have to look behind me to know that the  
  
animal  
  
had quickened his pace, too, and had almost reached the front of our flat.  
  
I ran; if I was lucky, I could reach our door and lock it. If I wished  
  
hard enough, the animal would disappear. In its place would be a silver stone,  
  
or a star-shaped leaf; something I could place by my cot at night and  
  
remember the horrible dream I had, the one that took place in the evening, in  
  
front of the flat, where the animal chased me to the far corner of the yard –I could  
  
almost reach my mother's hand, I could hear her saying softly, kindly, It was  
  
only a dream, Remus, only a dream – The chain link fence rose before me,  
  
iron-toothed and threatening, yet far friendlier than the breath of an animal a  
  
few paces behind – I threw myself upon it, tearing my palms open, cutting my lip,  
  
smelling blood and fear from every side – up, up, it was safer there – sweat and  
  
blood were coating my fingers, I felt my lungs sear with pain as I fell to the  
  
ground, eyes rolling madly, the creature looming above me, my legs had turned  
  
watery, the dead grass was welling with a dark liquid, and the animal screamed  
  
in triumph and lowered his face to mine, and he had the eyes of a man.  
  
There was blood in my eyes, and everything was hazy, but I could still hear  
  
the animal ripping me apart with his fangs, howling and crying, but it was my  
  
mother screaming, or was I screaming? When I shut my eyes the world glowed  
  
red. Someone was lifting me up, and the pain intensified. Then there was a  
  
rush  
  
of wind, and I was waking up surrounded by white walls, my head ringing.  
  
I always referred to the incident as "the bite," but it was a mauling,  
  
really. Everyone thought I was going to die - my parents, the healers, and the  
  
other patients in my ward. No one had any hope for me. I spent the month or so  
  
I stayed in the hospital in a state somewhere between sleeping and waking. I  
  
heard snatches of conversation as I dreamed of running through dark woods.   
  
Once I heard a healer tell my parents that it might be better if I died. I  
  
could not hear what their answer was, but I could hear them crying.  
  
When did they know for sure that I was a werewolf? I think it was several  
  
weeks into my stay at St. Mungo's. I was recovering slowly, not without a great  
  
deal of strange dreams, which grew repeatedly stranger as the full moon grew  
  
nearer. Finally, the evening arrived. I could see the moon, pale and round,  
  
rising above the rooftops of London like a bad omen surfacing. When I closed  
  
my eyes, I could still see it. While I slept, it hung in the corners of my  
  
dreams. When my parents came to talk to me and hold my hand, I saw it floating  
  
like a ghost across the room. The sky grew darker, the moon rose higher, and  
  
my new life begun.  
  
I had thought I knew what pain was. Pain had divided my life into eras -  
  
the first being the time when I recognized pain as stubbed toes and cold  
  
hands, the second the attack of the animal and its repercussions. Now I entered  
  
a  
  
third dimension of suffering.  
  
The pain that comes from changing from man to wolf was a hundred times  
  
worse than the pain I experienced when the werewolf attacked me. I was  
  
screaming so loudly every healer in the hospital came running to my ward. They  
  
tried stunning me, but it had no effect; I was writhing on the bed and howling in  
  
agony, my eyes were turning from grey-blue to a poisonous yellow, every tooth  
  
growing into a fang was sending a fiery twinge through my body, I had a snout,  
  
ears, a tail, and paws, convulsions were racking my body, but I could no longer  
  
scream anything intelligible – my mother ran screaming from the room, my father  
  
fainted, the healers were strapping me to the bed, I tried to bite them, my  
  
teeth were longing, aching to bite – there was nothing to bite but myself, so I  
  
tore at my fur and ripped through my skin, trying to get to the bone, growling,  
  
tearing, crying in sheer anguish, spasms racked my body and I tried to run –   
  
I was released from St. Mungo's a week or so after this. I awoke one morning  
  
in my hospital bed to the sound of my parents speaking in low voices.   
  
Phrases like tried everything, nothing more we can do, said – just be  
  
careful,   
  
and never forgive myself were audible.  
  
I made a great show of opening my eyes and stretching so that my parents  
  
would realize I was awake. My mother leaned over and kissed my forehead.  
  
"We're going home today, Remus," she said, in too hearty of a voice. Her  
  
hands were shaking slightly, and I could tell she had been crying very hard  
  
for a very long time. My father had the same washed out appearance, and he  
  
didn't even make an attempt at conversation.  
  
I dressed, tied my shoes, and went to say goodbye to the other patients  
  
in my ward, most of whom were too seriously injured to respond. The conscious  
  
patients returned my farewells, but they looked a little bit scared of me, and  
  
at first I was not sure why. Then I remembered the pain, and the agonizing  
  
transformation.  
  
My mother came back into the ward and took my hand. "Ready to go, then?"  
  
she asked, sounding happier.  
  
"Yes," I said. We walked downstairs. Some of the healers waved goodbye  
  
to me, others looked down as I passed.  
  
We met my father on the steps of the hospital lobby. He took my other  
  
hand and we walked out of St. Mungo's together.  
  
What would you like to do today? my mother asked as we crossed a street.  
  
I thought about the things we did before the evening I had seen the wolf  
  
by the rubbish bins. Swings, slides, the monkey barsâ |all sounded appealing.  
  
Can we go to the park, Mum? I asked.  
  
Of course, she said.  
  
We found a small park fairly close to our flat. We spent several hours  
  
there, balancing on the teeter-totters, making ourselves sick by spinning about  
  
on the tire swing, laughing so hard we were hoarse by the time we left and  
  
started to walk home.  
  
"Wait a minute," said my father. "We're going to get supper, aren't we?   
  
What would you like, Remus?"  
  
"Ice cream," I said without hesitation.  
  
"That," said my mother fervently, "is an excellent idea."  
  
We bought cones from a Muggle shop and walked back to our flat in the  
  
growing dark. My parents ate theirs instantly, but I licked my vanilla cone in  
  
circular fashion, making it last as long as possible.  
  
"If you eat it in big bites," said my father, "you enjoy it most." My  
  
mother nodded in agreement.  
  
"That's silly," I said. "If you savor it, it seems like you have more."  
  
I didn't know why this statement made my mother burst into tears, but it  
  
did. She sobbed the rest of the way home. I finished my cone and took her  
  
hand in my own small, sticky one.  
  
"Would you like my shirtsleeve, Mum, to wipe your nose on?" I asked.  
  
"Oh, no thanks, Remus, sweetheart," she said, and began crying harder.  
  
That night, I asked as I usually did to sleep in my parents' bed, next to  
  
my mother. She generally declined this, saying, that I needed to become  
  
accustomed to sleeping on my own, but tonight she and my father read to me out  
  
of a large storybook with a picture of a fat orange cat on the cover, and I was  
  
allowed to sleep between them.  
  
When I was four I learned to read. I read everything from children's books  
  
to the Daily Prophet to my parents' complex novels. I was still not certain  
  
what was happening to me every month when the moon was high, why it hurt so  
  
much, why I clawed at the locked door of my room and howled, why I tried to bite  
  
myself when it was so painful, why my mother's face was deathly pale for nights  
  
afterwards - but I could read better than most grownups. After a  
  
particularly agonizing transformation, where I had chewed down to the bone in my  
  
arm and  
  
had to go to St. Mungo's again, this time for blood transfusion, I returned  
  
home determined to find out what had happened to me. I knew my parents wouldn't  
  
tell me, so I would have to rely upon books.  
  
We had a very extensive library in the living room of our flat, including  
  
a set of encyclopedias called Magical Studies. Volume Five of this was  
  
entitled "Care of Magical Creatures, Dark and Beneficial." I flipped through to  
  
"D" and looked up Dog. There were a few interesting pages about phantom dogs,  
  
supposed bringers of bad omens, called Grims, but I knew I wasn't turning into a  
  
phantom dog. I flipped to W for Wolves, and found it. On page 897, my life  
  
was laid out for me.  
  
The Werewolf (Homo Lupis)  
  
One of the most infamous dark creatures of all time, the werewolf is defined  
  
as a man who turns into an extremely dangerous wolf at each full moon. A man  
  
will become a werewolf only if he is bitten by a werewolf, which leaves us  
  
with some doubt as to how the first werewolf originated. Unfortunately, there  
  
is  
  
nothing to be done once a man has been bitten, save from locking him up in a  
  
confined area when he transforms. The transformation is intensely painful.   
  
Friends of the werewolf may want to leave some possessions they care little for  
  
behind in the room when the werewolf is making his transformation, or the  
  
werewolf will bite himself - in certain cases, this has resulted in a werewolf's  
  
death.  
  
There followed a list of some of the more "infamous" werewolves. Would my  
  
name ever go on that list? I felt suddenly ill. Now I knew why the neighbors  
  
glared at me. Now I knew why I had no friends.  
  
When I was very young, before I had been bitten, my parents had told me  
  
stories about the school they had gone to, and met at. It was called Hogwarts  
  
School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. They told me about their many friends, the  
  
best teachers, the worst teachers, the school ghosts, the giant squid in the  
  
giant lake, their exploits, the Quidditch matches between the four houses,  
  
Christmases and Halloweens spent there - the list went on and on. They had  
  
always ended these stories by saying, "And, one day, you'll go there, too."  
  
But would I? They had not mentioned Hogwarts to me since the bite. I  
  
was thinking much more logically about things now that I was nearly nine, and it  
  
occurred to me that Hogwarts was a place where they would teach you how to  
  
protect yourself against werewolves. A werewolf certainly wouldn't be welcome  
  
as a student there. Perhaps, I thought, I could be a sort of prop. They'd let  
  
me live in one of the cupboards. When the Defense Against the Dark Arts  
  
students studied werewolves, they'd take me out and let everyone hex me.   
  
Dismally, I resigned myself to a life of suffering.  
  
It was when I turned ten that a letter arrived. Although it was  
  
addressed to my parents, I kept it and have it still.  
  
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Lupin,  
  
I am writing in response to the question you posed to my predecessor,  
  
Headmaster Dippet. Although he told you firmly that under no circumstances  
  
would  
  
your son, Remus J. Lupin, be allowed to attend Hogwarts - as he had been bitten  
  
by a werewolf and thus became one - I happen to have a difference of opinion.  
  
I feel as though your son should not be deprived of an excellent magical  
  
education for a reason as trivial as this one. Not many would regard being a  
  
werewolf a trivial condition, but, as long as we take sufficient safety  
  
measures, there is no reason why your son should not be allowed to attend  
  
Hogwarts.   
  
If you would so kindly meet me in my office at Hogwarts next Thursday  
  
evening, I would be delighted to discuss matters with you.  
  
Best wishes,  
  
Albus Dumbledore  
  
"Discuss matters?" I asked my mother, who chose not to answer me. I was  
  
watching her get ready for their meeting with Dumbledore. She was applying  
  
makeup carefully, and she was wearing an expensive woven straw hat with a periwinkle  
  
ribbon she had purchased at a hat shop in Diagon Alley. My father was  
  
wearing a suit. I could not remember ever having seen my parents dressing so  
  
scrupulously for any occasion before, which filled me with pride and fear.  
  
"Remus," my mother said as she kissed me goodbye, "I want you to lock  
  
this door behind us. Don't open it for anybody, do you understand?"  
  
"Mum," I said. "I'm a werewolf. I can look after myself."  
  
"I know you're a werewolf, sweetheart," she said, smiling sadly. "If you  
  
weren't one, we'd be staying at home tonight, doing crossword puzzles and  
  
eating Chocolate Frogs until we're sick."  
  
"I can still do that, right?"  
  
"Well, no. You have a glass of milk and go to bed."  
  
"This is a bit unfair!" I said.  
  
"Be it as that may," said my father, "we have to go now."  
  
I waved to them out of the window until they Apparated and were gone.   
  
Then I went into my bedroom and sat on my cot. I was reading a very thick book  
  
now about troll rebellions, and another very thick Muggle book called The  
  
Arabian Nights. Sometimes I read aloud to my mother, who always made me skip  
  
the parts about seductive Moorish men jumping out of trees and kidnapping sultans'  
  
wives. I read from both books for awhile, then went downstairs and poured  
  
myself a glass of milk. Outside I could hear a few boys my age playing soccer  
  
in the street. I hadn't spoken to any children for quite some time, and I  
  
wondered if I had gotten out of practice.  
  
The first stars came out as I was reading next to my window, so I shut my  
  
eyes and wished for a best friend of my own. If I shut one of my eyes and  
  
turned my head, I could ignore the moon, which was half-full now. If I took one  
  
look at it, it would be floating in my dreams all night long.  
  
My mother looked happy, but she was crying. She fixed the collar of my shirt  
  
several times and insisted that my father take a whole roll of film's worth  
  
of pictures.  
  
"His first day of school!" she sobbed.  
  
"It's not as though I'm leaving permanently," I protested. My mother  
  
began to kiss me again, and I didn't jerk away. I wouldn't be seeing my parents  
  
until Christmastime.  
  
We took the Underground to King's Cross Station, where I shut my eyes and  
  
walked through the barrier between platforms nine and ten. The Hogwarts  
  
Express loomed before me. Students were calling out to one another, other  
  
beaming parents were kissing their first-years goodbye, and I was both deliriously  
  
happy and nervous enough to wet my pants.  
  
My parents kissed me goodbye for the umpteenth time. I said, "I'll just  
  
go and get on the train, then." I dragged my suitcase. Some of the students  
  
had owls, but I came from a poor family. Secondhand robes and spell books  
  
were the most I'd hoped for.  
  
I was stepping onto the train when I caught a glimpse of my parents  
  
behind me. I had never been away from them before, seeing as I had no friends'  
  
houses to go to, and I realized there was a very large lump forming in my  
  
throat. I raced back to them and hugged them both, then ran back to the train,  
  
waving behind me. They continued to wave as the train pulled out of the  
  
station. I stood in the corridors, wondering whether to cheer or cry.  
  
Giving a sudden lurch, the train began to move faster. I found myself  
  
lying flat on the floor, my suitcase piled on top of me. Deciding I ought to  
  
find a place to sit, I hurried down the row of seats. Most of them were filled  
  
by people who looked very much older than I was. I looked for short and  
  
nervous children who weren't in large groups and weren't laughing menacingly.  
  
It was hard work. I found two children who fit this description in one cab - a  
  
pale, scrawny boy with greasy black hair and a green-eyed girl with bushy red  
  
hair - who were being towered over by several brawny boys who were threatening  
  
to punch their faces in if they didn't give up their seats. The girl was  
  
talking heatedly to them, the boy had held out his wand and began muttering  
  
quickly under his breath. I moved on, feeling a bit more nervous than I had before.  
  
The last cab was almost empty. There were two boys that looked about my  
  
age in it, talking loudly about Quidditch and laughing as though they hadn't a  
  
care in the world. They weren't the sort of boys I would feel comfortable  
  
around, I could tell that right off, but remembering the black-haired boy and  
  
the redheaded girl, I decided that they were a fairly safe choice of seatmates.   
  
So what if they didn't like me?  
  
Er – is this seat taken? I asked.  
  
The boys didn't look up. One of the boys, who had glasses and messy  
  
black hair, waved his hand carelessly at me.  
  
Right, I said. I sat down. They were still talking enthusiastically  
  
about Quidditch.  
  
– shame first years aren't allowed on house teams, said the boy with  
  
glasses. The other boy, who was rather tall and had long dark hair, nodded in  
  
agreement.  
  
Then they looked up and saw me.  
  
Hello, said the boy with glasses. R. J. Lupin, eh?   
  
My name had been stamped on my suitcase by my mother, who worried that it  
  
would get lost.  
  
Yes, I said, yes, that's me –   
  
First year, too? said the boy with long dark hair.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Sirius Black," said the same boy, without extending his hand.  
  
"James Potter," the boy with glasses declared.  
  
"Remus Lupin," I said, trying to take on their declaring tone.  
  
"Play Quidditch at all, Remus Lupin?" the boy called James Potter asked  
  
brightly.  
  
I paused. If I said what was true, that I had never been near a  
  
broomstick, even, then they would dismiss me as of no importance whatsoever. If  
  
I lied, I could become one of them.  
  
"Yeah," I said airily, "I played quite a lot, actually."  
  
"What position?" Sirius Black asked. "Keeper? Seeker?"  
  
"Seeker," I said. I liked the way it sounded.  
  
"You gonna try out for the house team?" James Potter asked me.  
  
"I might, second year," I said, amazed I was carrying on a conversation  
  
with these two. "It's abysmal that first years aren't allowed to play at all."  
  
"Abysmal?" smirked James Potter. He exchanged a raised-eyebrows look  
  
with Sirius Black, and for a minute I was afraid I had blown it all.  
  
"It means appalling, I said. Incomprehensible.   
  
There was more exchanging of looks between the two boys.  
  
Brainy, are you? said Sirius Black shrewdly.  
  
Not really, I said, feeling that there was nothing I could do anymore,  
  
but compared to this lot – I suppose so. I was feeling too stupid to care as  
  
to whether or not they would take this as an insult.  
  
Honestly said Sirius Black, and I was surprised to hear him speaking  
  
in a voice that conveyed how much he quite agreed with me. Half the people on  
  
this train can't even spell their own names, judging by their looks!" James  
  
sniggered.  
  
"Hey, what house d'you think you'll get in?" I asked them, trying to get  
  
back onto familiar territory.  
  
"My mother was in Slytherin," said Sirius Black. "She's a twisted old  
  
bat, though – I rather think Gryffindor sounds like fun.   
  
The Hufflepuff Quidditch team won the cup last year, though, James  
  
Potter pointed out. My father was in Hufflepuff. My mother was in Gryffindor,  
  
though.   
  
My parents were both in Ravenclaw," I said. "It sounded all right,  
  
except that from the way they talk about it, it was all about studying for the  
  
end-of-the-year-exams."  
  
"That's what I hear about Ravenclaws," said Sirius Black seriously, "they  
  
don't care for anything but good marks."  
  
And he and James Potter exchanged a look that said in an instant how very  
  
tragic they thought this was.  
  
"Awful, isn't it?" I said, trying to use a word I thought they'd know.  
  
"It's perfectly abysmal," said Sirius Black.  
  
"Simply appalling, James Potter added.  
  
They laughed, but it was a lighthearted laugh, an including sort of  
  
laugh. So I laughed, too.  
  
Hey, I said, watch your mouths – I have a couple of fists, and they work  
  
about as well as the old brain does –   
  
We laughed again. I hadn't felt this happy since – since this morning,  
  
actually; I had been very happy this morning – but I hadn't laughed with a bunch  
  
of boys my own age - ever.  
  
The lunch tray came by a bit later. My parents had given me some  
  
spending money, so I bought a few Chocolate Frogs. James Potter bought a large  
  
bag of these; we spent quite some time trading the cards and laughing at Sirius  
  
Black, who was eating Every Flavor Beans with exaggerated facial expressions and  
  
groans. It was getting very dark now, and Sirius Black said he thought we  
  
might be getting close.  
  
And we were. It was very dark, but we could see the lights of Hogwarts  
  
Castle gleaming at us from in-between the trees.  
  
Everything happened very fast that night. We first years were ushered into  
  
boats which rowed themselves across a very large lake. I was in a boat with  
  
Sirius Black, James Potter, and a quivering, round boy who said he was called  
  
Pettigrew. For the short time it took to cross the lake, we got very soaked.   
  
Then we came inside the castle. There was a hat; it sang a complicated song  
  
(could that have been right? Was I just half-asleep?) and someone was calling  
  
names – I had my head on Sirius Black's shoulder and was nearly nodding  
  
off – they had sorted, Abigail, Henry first, then Black, Sirius (who went to  
  
Gryffindor; I was nearly too tired to notice this) but I had slept through most  
  
of the B's, and the C's, they were sorting, "Daniels, Cornelia!" and "Dervish,  
  
Ayden!" (Ravenclaw). They did an "Evans," a "Fodder," a "Grady," a "Harris" and  
  
a "Hellmans." I think I had fallen asleep again, because James Potter kicked  
  
me in the shins and I jumped.  
  
"Lupin, Remus!"  
  
I went from feeling very sleepy to very sick. It was a terrible feeling.  
  
I wasn't sure my legs could function properly, but I went up to a chair with  
  
a hat sitting upon it. My parents had told me that I would put this hat on  
  
and it would tell me which house to be sorted into.  
  
I stuck the hat on my head with shaky hands and waited for it to yell.  
  
Lupin, eh? said the hat, quietly and shrewdly. I put your folks in  
  
Ravenclaw, both of them – and you would do well there, too, no doubt – Smart,  
  
very smart, one of the most intelligent people I've sorted this evening,  
  
actually – You're a nice kid, can tell that right off – So here we have a smart  
  
boy, a good boy – have you ever disobeyed your parents? No, I don't think you have – this is quite difficult – I've narrowed it down to two choices, where you ought to  
  
be – tricky – all right, I've made up my mind –   
  
And the hat shouted, GRYFFINDOR   
  
I was very tired and slightly relieved. Recalling that Sirius Black had  
  
also been placed in that house, I scanned the tables and saw him whooping from  
  
one of them at me.  
  
After me there was a "Madison," but I dozed off again and didn't wake up  
  
until the P's, "Pettigrew, Peter" and "Potter, James!" both became Gryffindors  
  
- Sirius clapped and banged his fist on the table, but I was too tired to  
  
notice much of anything anymore - "Rowy," they called, then "Samuels," "Snape,"  
  
"Stouffer," and "Tierance." The last name they called was "Zane, Arianna,"  
  
then there was a speech, and food appeared from out of nowhere, and a prefect  
  
girl with long black hair wound back in a bun was showing us the way to the  
  
common room. There were beds there. I picked the one next to the window,  
  
without thinking. The moon was crescent-shaped, and it appeared innocent enough, but  
  
that night I awoke quaking with nightmares of a leering giant with shiny white  
  
teeth. None of the other boys heard me tossing and turning, so at least this  
  
was something to be grateful for. Right then and there, however, I made a  
  
vow to myself - I would never let my classmates know I was a werewolf. It was  
  
something to be deeply ashamed of, something best left concealed. No matter  
  
how many lies I would have to come up with, I'd never let the truth surface. I  
  
stared out of my window at the setting moon, barely a sliver of light above  
  
the horizon, turned over, and went back to sleep.  
  
I was twelve years old, midway through my second year at Hogwarts, and it was  
  
almost Christmastime. My first year at Hogwarts had been the best time of my  
  
life, and this one was going to be even better, by the looks of it. Although  
  
I did miss my parents, I was so elated about my new best friends that my  
  
mother and father's absence was more than bearable. Sirius Black, James Potter,  
  
Peter Pettigrew, and I had spent every minute at school in each other's  
  
company. Sirius and James were extremely popular - they were clever, athletic,  
  
and always joking around - and it was a very good thing I was friends with them,  
  
because otherwise I probably never would have had any kind of a social life. I  
  
was, as Sirius had predicted, very brainy - I got excellent marks in all my  
  
classes, I knew the answer to every question my teachers proposed to me. I did  
  
extra homework and studied for hours before exams. Most importantly, I never  
  
passed notes with Sirius and James during classes. Because of this, I was  
  
quite the teachers' pet, something James and Sirius were forever teasing me  
  
about. But I had adjusted to friendships with other boys my own age, and was  
  
even comfortable enough to admit that I'd never played Quidditch in my life after  
  
James decided to try out for the Gryffindor team at the beginning of this year  
  
and asked me if I wanted to try and be a Seeker. There was one thing,  
  
however, that I would never have told my best friends about. It was getting  
  
difficult to come up with new lies to tell them every month. I had used the  
  
"folks are ill/injured" excuse too many times already, and the "forgot a textbook at  
  
home" justification was becoming old as well. In actuality, every time the full  
  
moon rose, I would walk down to an extremely violet tree called the Whomping  
  
Willow, accompanied by the Hogwarts nurse, Madam Pomfrey. There was a small  
  
button one could push at the roots of the great tree, which would open an  
  
underground tunnel. I would walk down the tunnel into a small, unoccupied shack  
  
in the village of Hogsmeade not far from the school. There I transformed, there  
  
I stayed until I was human again, whereupon I would walk back to the school,  
  
think up a few fabrications to satisfy my friends with, and think nothing of  
  
until next month.  
  
I was up in the boys' dormitories, hastily tidying my bed before I was  
  
due to leave with Madam Pomfrey, when Sirius and James came up to me, catching  
  
me off guard.  
  
"Mum's ill," I said quickly, although I had said it the month before last.  
  
James and Sirius sat on either side of me. James clapped me on the back  
  
and Sirius slung a casual arm around me. We sat like this for a little while.  
  
I was feeling quite nervous, which was completely uncalled for - these were  
  
my two best friends, after all. Then James began to speak.  
  
Your mum's not ill, Remus, he said quietly.  
  
I had begun to sweat. Yes she is She told me – I got an owl – last  
  
night   
  
Remus, said Sirius, speaking slowly, "we know she's not ill. We know  
  
you didn't forget One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi at your house last  
  
month."  
  
"What are you talking about?" I said, in a higher voice than I had  
  
intended.  
  
Sirius looked at James, who looked back.  
  
Er, said James. You – being a werewolf. We know.   
  
I knew if I sat where I was, I was going to hit him, him and Sirius both.  
  
I stood up and ran to the far side of the dormitory.  
  
It's all right, Remus, Sirius said. He might have been talking to a  
  
lost puppy.  
  
"C'mon," said James. They got up and started walking towards me.  
  
"Get away from me," I said in a whisper. I was startled and horrified to  
  
discover that tears were forming in my eyes.  
  
Sirius and James looked very concerned now. "What? What is it?" said  
  
Sirius, biting his lip.  
  
"So I'm a werewolf," I said. I was crying now, but found that I didn't  
  
really care. It wasn't as though we were going to be friends now, anyway; why  
  
should I try to act tough around them? "So you guys worked it out.   
  
Congratulations, first of all. Although I guess my excuses weren't that hard to  
  
see  
  
through.   
  
Come on, Remus, said James, but he stopped there, as though not certain  
  
how to finish.  
  
Go I sobbed. Go tell the entire – f-fucking school!" While Sirius and  
  
James were avid swearword users our second and third years, I always  
  
refrained from saying profanities. This was my first real cuss, and I should  
  
have felt  
  
good. Instead, I felt worse, if possible, than ever.  
  
"What?" Sirius said. "What would we do that for?"  
  
I sank to the ground and buried my face in my hands. I didn't want to  
  
watch them leave. I thought I would go completely to pieces after the first  
  
friends I had ever made walked out on me.  
  
"We're not going to tell anybody James said indignantly.  
  
I have to go, I said. I have to go – I'm a werewolf You don't want to  
  
be in the same room as me Go   
  
But I didn't leave, and neither did they.  
  
Remus, said Sirius seriously. Listen to me. Please."  
  
I looked up and wiped my nose on my sleeve. Finally, I nodded.  
  
"Me and James here are the best kind of friends there are," he said.  
  
"The best," James added.  
  
"Which means we don't rat you out," Sirius continued, "we don't avoid you  
  
like the plague, and - most importantly - we stay your friends."  
  
"That last part was a tad corny," James said, "but it's true. We're your  
  
buddies - what d'you think, we'd send you into exile?"  
  
"Well, yeah," I said. I had stopped crying, but my voice was still  
  
shaky. "I'm a werewolf! They're dangerous dark creatures!"  
  
"No, they're not," said Sirius, who was now smiling. He came and put his  
  
hand on my shoulder very gently and kindly, and I looked back at him through  
  
puffy red eyelids.  
  
"You might like to be thought of as an dangerous dark creature," Sirius  
  
continued, smirking, "but the fact remains that you're a teachers pet, you have  
  
the best marks of anyone in our year, and you're an all-around  
  
goody-two-shoes."  
  
Here I should have laughed, or pretended to sock Sirius, or something to  
  
that extent. Instead I started crying again. James came over and said, in  
  
tones of mock sentiment, "Group hug, everybody!"  
  
And we embraced. 


End file.
